by Annie Lyons
She took her place at the front of the chapel, eyes fixed forward. She didn’t want to acknowledge the other mourners or the fact that there were so few of them. She was the only family member present. Her mother had refused to come and wouldn’t allow Eudora to let the relatives on her father’s side know about Stella’s death.
“They will pity us,” she said with a hint of venom. “And I will not be pitied.”
Eudora could hear the whispers and sniffles behind her now. She recognized a couple of the voices as friends of Stella’s.
“I can’t believe it.”
“She was so young.”
“How could this happen?”
“She wrote to me last year. Said she wanted to come home.”
“Why didn’t she then?”
The speaker lowered the volume of her voice so that her reply was inaudible to Eudora, but she knew what she was saying.
It’s her fault. Her sister wouldn’t speak to her. She’s so bitter and spiteful. She couldn’t see past her selfish feelings to help her own flesh and blood.
Eudora’s version of the truth churned over and over in her head as it did constantly these days.
“Please stand,” said the priest.
Eudora kept her eyes fixed forward as her sister was brought in. She heard the sobs intensify and watched as the pallbearers placed the coffin on the supports with care, laid the small spray of yellow roses on top, and bowed before taking their leave.
It was a short service, but it seemed like an eternity to Eudora. There were no hymns or music, no celebration of a life well-lived. Eudora didn’t listen to the priest’s words, to his prayers or blessings or hollow eulogy. There was no comfort or consolation to be garnered today. This was the time to accept her responsibility, to face the guilt and pain. She stared at the coffin, thinking about the two people inside. Two lives lost: one half-lived, the other never begun. She could have saved them both.
The rain was hammering on the windows now, the wind rattling at the doors. Eudora looked around fearfully as if her sister were the cause of the tempest. She wouldn’t put it past her. Stella had thrived on drama in her life. Why should her death be any different?
The priest had to raise his voice to give the final commendation and blessing before the curtains were drawn around the coffin and the mourners departed. Eudora remained, motionless, gazing at the pink velvet curtain. She didn’t want to speak to anyone. She would wait until everyone had gone before taking her leave.
“Eudora?”
She started at the voice close behind her. She turned and hurried to her feet in surprise. “Sam.” Instinctively, she held out her hand.
He shook it gently, staring into her eyes with smiling kindness. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Eudora.”
“Thank you. I’m touched that you came.”
“How is your mother?”
There were a dozen ways she could answer this, leading to another dozen excuses and lies. “She’s not well, which meant that she was unable to come today.” It was only a half lie.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Please pass on my condolences.”
“I will. Thank you.” They looked around at the empty chapel, sensing that it was time to leave.
“Would you like a lift home?” asked Sam.
“That’s very kind of you, but I thought I might take a stroll around the gardens. Clear my head a little.”
“Of course.” This was Sam’s cue to leave but he stayed where he was. “Would it be all right if I accompanied you? We don’t need to talk, unless you want to. I could do with clearing my head too.”
“Oh. Well, of course.”
Eudora took one final glance at the closed curtain before walking out into the open with Sam. The rain had stopped but a chill wind remained as the sun struggled to break through the haze. Eudora tucked her scarf up around her neck for warmth as they made their way through the graveyard.
“Funny place for a stroll, eh?” said Sam.
“Mmm,” agreed Eudora. “At least it’s peaceful.” It was a beautiful setting, the graves and gardens well-tended. The golden leaves on the surrounding trees made everything look majestic.
“And how are you, Eudora?” asked Sam. His voice sounded serious.
“I’m all right, thank you.” It was the best she could manage.
“Sorry,” he said. “Daft question.”
“It’s all right. It’s kind of you to ask. How are you? I heard you got married and had children. Congratulations.” She hadn’t actually heard this. She’d only seen them in the park.
Sam sighed. “Thank you. I do have two children. But unfortunately, my wife and I are getting divorced.”
“Oh.”
“That’s what my mother said when I told her. And then she ranted about the shame I would bring on the family. And she hasn’t spoken to me since.”
“Oh dear. I’m sorry.”
Sam shrugged. “Don’t be. You’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
Eudora looked up at him. He had aged well. His face had a lived-in appearance, but he was still handsome, with flecks of gray peppering his neatly Brylcreemed hair. “It’s nice to see you.”
Sam smiled. Eudora was ashamed to feel her heart lift. She was supposed to be in mourning. Sack cloth and ashes and no joy. And yet, it felt good to spend a moment like this. “It’s nice to see you too, Eudora. I’ve often wondered how you were getting on. Would it be presumptuous of me to ask if we could keep in touch?”
The rain was starting to fall again. Eudora put up her umbrella and gazed at him. “Not at all. I’d like that.”
When Sam had gone, Eudora walked back toward the chapel cloisters, where floral tributes were displayed after services. She thought about going to take one last look at the flowers, to keep one to press, but decided against it. Instead, she kept on walking in the wind and rain. She folded away her umbrella and gritted her teeth, wanting to feel each stinging drop.
The pale roses trembled in the storm, their butter-yellow petals flecked with water droplets. A card flapped in the breeze, its words melting away in the rain. Two words. One plea.
“Forgive me.”
The storm raged on.
Chapter 15
The walk to the doctor’s office feels especially strenuous today. It usually takes Eudora a while, but she has always derived satisfaction from her ability to scale her own version of K2. Today feels different though.
“You’re an example to us all, Miss Honeysett,” says the postman, who is walking by as she sets off. “Got to keep going, right?”
“Right,” she replies. She has noticed that he’s started to exchange a nod or wave with her again. She isn’t sure what has brought on this change of heart. It might be down to Rose, who has been telling anyone who’ll listen about her part in Daisy’s birth. Either way, Eudora welcomes this softening of attitude.
There is a distinct pinch of autumn in the air today. Eudora is grateful that the hot summer is at an end. Usually she detests autumn, with its air of melancholy decay, but this year is different. As nature turns in on itself, green becomes brown and plants shrink to dust, Eudora has discovered solace in the new life taking root next door to her.
For a small, newly arrived being, Daisy seems particularly eager to announce her presence as frequently as possible. Eudora hears her all through the night and day; she hears squeals and wails and Rose’s desperate pleas for her sister to “shut the flip up!” She hears Maggie’s soothing tones and Rob’s gentle singing when they’re trying to persuade Daisy to sleep. She hears crashing and banging and screams as Rose loses her temper with the situation, and then patient reasoning from one or the other parent followed by quiet as she is comforted. Eudora hears life going on with all its drama and love and smiles to herself. In times gone by, the noise and bustle of other people’s lives served as a stark reminder that she was cut off from the world, but Rose’s presence has curbed this notion. Since the advent of Daisy, Rose demands Eudora’s attendance in their hou
se on an almost daily basis. Eudora finds herself pleased to accept.
“I need you, Eudora. Mum needs you. Please can you come?”
Invariably, Eudora will turn up to face a level of chaos to which she is wholly unused but unexpectedly able to deal with.
“I thought I was tired before all this, but now . . .” said Maggie one day, her voice trailing off as if she is too exhausted to find the words.
Eudora likes to think of herself as an army general, drafted in to manage a military crisis. Rose enjoys this game too. “Right, Captain Rose, can you bring me up to speed on today’s situation, please?”
“Yes, ma’am,” says Rose with a salute. “The enemy woke at two a.m.”
“Please don’t call your sister ‘the enemy,’” mumbles Maggie.
“Sorry, Mummy. The baby woke at two a.m. and basically . . .”
“. . . hasn’t been to sleep since,” says Maggie, as if resigned to a lifetime of wakefulness.
Eudora looks at her hollow, red-rimmed eyes and then at the baby in her arms. Daisy’s eyes mirror her mother’s as they dart left and right, her facial muscles twitching as if she has no idea which expression to adopt.
“Food? Nappies?”
“Done. All done,” says Maggie.
“Very good. Right, give the enemy—sorry, I mean, the baby to me. And you go to bed,” says Eudora.
Maggie looks as if she might cry. “But . . .”
“That’s a direct order,” says Eudora.
Maggie stares at them both before handing over Daisy. “Thank you,” she breathes.
Eudora turns to Rose. “Right, we need soothing music, Rose, and the sound of the washing machine.”
“On it,” says Rose. Fifteen minutes later, Daisy has been lulled to sleep by the calming tones of “Brahms’s Lullaby” interspersed with the chug-churn of a spin cycle. Eudora places her in the Moses basket in the living room and sets about playing a fiercely competitive game of dominoes with Rose.
“I’m glad you’re here, Eudora. Things are pret-ty intense in this house at the moment.”
“I’m pleased I’m able to help.”
“I start school next week,” says Rose, her eyes fixed on the tile she’s just placed.
Eudora knows enough of Rose to understand that this is a cue. “And how do you feel about that?”
“Terrible. I’m trying to persuade Mum to homeschool me instead.”
Eudora glances over at Daisy’s snuffling form. “I think she might have her hands full at the moment, Rose.”
Rose’s eyes widen. “Maybe you could do it.”
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
“Why not? You know everything and Stanley could help too. We could go on educational trips to museums and stuff. It would be great for all of us.”
Eudora places a hand over Rose’s. “You need to be with people of your own age.”
Rose stares at the dominoes as tears form in her eyes. “But I don’t like people of my own age. They’re mean.”
“Not all of them. Just as not all older people are kind.”
“You are. And Stanley is. You’re my best friends,” says Rose. A tear plops onto the line of dominoes.
Eudora reaches out her other hand and cups Rose’s between her own. “All will be well,” she says.
“Promise?” Rose stares up at her, eyes brimming.
“Have I ever let you down?”
“No.”
“Well, there you are then. Now, come along. Let’s finish this game. It’s two-one to me. You really need to buck up your ideas.”
Eudora reaches the doctor’s office now. It’s taken her twenty minutes longer than usual, largely because she needed to pause to catch her breath more than once. Part of her wishes she’d asked Stanley for a lift, but it’s only a very small part. It’s against her nature to ask for help, even from him.
If the individual who designed this doctor’s office had intended to make it as uninviting as possible, they’ve done an excellent job. The reception area is reached via a narrow alley and two heavy doors. Eudora is thankful that a man who is leaving pauses to hold them both open for her. The interior is slightly worse than the exterior. It looks to Eudora like a less fun version of a World War II bunker. The dark, oppressive surroundings are enhanced by a bank of blinds covering the windows at the far end. Eudora has been coming to this office for as long as she can remember but can’t recall ever seeing the blinds raised. A radio shouts out music from one corner of the waiting area; the background din does little to lighten the atmosphere. The walls are emblazoned with terrifying posters warning of life-threatening diseases alongside more mundane notices advertising coffee mornings and knitting groups.
Eudora approaches the desk and looks at the poster warning her that aggressive behavior will not be tolerated. It is therefore ironic that the words “passive aggressive” could have been invented for the woman behind the counter, such is her disinterest and contempt.
It takes the woman a good two minutes to acknowledge Eudora’s presence, and when she does, she stares at her with cold indifference. “Yeh?”
Eudora opens her mouth to speak but is interrupted by the woman raising a hand to silence her as her telephone begins to ring and she makes the baffling decision to answer it. “Juss a minute.”
Eudora purses her lips and stares past the woman’s dirty-blond bouffant and overly made-up face. A cheerful blue-and-white-polka-dot cardboard box sits on the shelf behind her head, announcing its contents to be “Death Certificates.” Eudora considers catching the next available flight to Switzerland as the woman puts down the phone with a perfectly manicured hand.
“Yeh?” she says again without apology.
Eudora takes a deep breath. “Eudora Honeysett. I have an appointment with the doctor.”
“Which doctor?”
At first Eudora is confused, thinking she has said “witch doctor,” but then the penny drops. “I have no idea. I seem to see a different doctor every time I come here.”
The woman sighs heavily and rolls her eyes. “Date of birth?”
Eudora would like to take this woman down a peg or two, to admonish her for her rudeness, but it occurs to her that she is probably unhappy. Eudora bites her lip. “The twentieth of July, 1933.”
The woman’s face softens. “My mum’s birthday,” she murmurs. Eudora can see from her face that her mother is no longer alive, and gives her a brisk smile. “Wass yer name, darlin’?”
“Eudora Honeysett.”
“Ah yeah, I got yah. Take a seat. Doctor Khalid is running half an hour late.”
“Thank you.” Eudora was hoping there would be a delay. She wants to reread the living will form she has completed before she goes in. She glances at the radio and then back at her new friend. “Would it be possible to switch off the radio, please, if no one is listening to it?”
The receptionist’s brow furrows as if Eudora has requested that she redecorate the waiting room rather than merely silence it. “We usually have it on, but I don’t mind, do you, Sam?” she says to her colleague.
“Nah,” says Sam, shaking her head. “Be nice to have a bit of p and q for a change.”
“Thank you,” repeats Eudora.
“No bovver, darlin’,” says the receptionist, reaching over her desk to switch off the clattering din.
Eudora breathes out as she takes a seat in the far corner of the waiting room. The place is packed with people but is relatively quiet apart from the odd wheezy breath or squeaking child. Eudora retrieves the form and casts her eye over her shaky handwriting. A sharp tightness in her chest catches her unawares. She takes a deep breath and places a hand over her heart to calm herself. It subsides. Eudora dismisses it as a side effect of her exertions.
“Eudora Honeysett?” calls the doctor, a stressed-looking woman, who barely waits for Eudora to follow before hurrying back to her consulting room.
Eudora taps on the door before entering.
“Come in!”
She does as she’s told, entering the stuffy room and making her way over to the vacant chair. The doctor is already back at her desk, tapping away at her computer. She doesn’t look up as Eudora sits down. “How are you, Ms. Honeysett?”
“I am quite well, thank you.” She’s decided not to mention her recent dizzy spells or the tightness in her chest. Ignorance is bliss.
“That’s good. So, what can I do for you?”
Eudora sits up straighter in her chair. “I wanted to ask you to witness this form for me, please,” says Eudora, handing it over. “And may I have a copy of my medical records?” She delivers the form with a smile, trusting that this will coax the doctor to do her bidding.
The doctor reads the form and glances up at Eudora. “Have you discussed this with anyone close to you?”
“I live alone. It’s just me now but I have given it a great deal of thought.”
The doctor glances at the clock. Eudora hopes the doctor’s lateness will play to her advantage. “And you’re sure about all aspects of this form?”
Eudora answers without hesitation. “I am. I’m eighty-five. I’ve had a long time to consider my life.”
Her certainty and no-nonsense approach clearly does the job, as the doctor smiles. “I think you’re wise to get it all written down. If you sign in the box, I will witness it.”
“Thank you,” says Eudora, doing as she’s asked before handing it back to the doctor. She winces as her chest tenses again.
“Are you all right, Ms. Honeysett?” asks the doctor, looking concerned.
“Indigestion,” says Eudora with a reassuring nod.
The doctor hesitates, her pen poised over the form. “Would you mind if I examined you?”
Yes, thinks Eudora. I would mind a great deal. “Of course not.”
The doctor unfurls her stethoscope and listens to Eudora’s chest. For an overworked woman, she takes her time. Eventually, she returns to her chair. “I think you may have a chest infection. I’m going to prescribe some antibiotics, and I’d also like you to go for an echo test on your heart.”
The irony of the fact that Eudora’s heart sinks at this news is not lost on her. “Very well. Are you still able to sign my form, please?”